


Everyone Needs a Christmas One-Night Stand

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas Smut, Gay Bar, Identity Porn, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2020-06-27 13:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: Bitty's alone at a bar, thinking about going home, when Santa swings by.





	Everyone Needs a Christmas One-Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Year One and not quite canon compliant.
> 
> Written for ffa's 1000-post promptfest: _Good boys get fucked by Santa._

_I'm never listening to Shitty again,_ Bitty thought to himself. His fake ID had done the job--the bartender had hardly glanced at it, despite his small size. The bar was clean enough and everything seemed safe, and the music wasn't bad but--  
  
Bitty just wasn't the gay bar _type,_ and he'd known it, even when Shitty had encouraged him to 'get out there and meet people, everyone needs a Christmas one-night stand.' And he certainly wasn't in the mood to celebrate. He missed his parents something awful, and he couldn't escape a little fear in the back of his mind about what would happen if one of the Samwell frogs got papped in a gay bar. (His scholarship. His _parents._ )  
  
So instead of flirting, like Shitty had probably hoped, he was back here in the corner, listening to the music and not quite getting drunk. At least he was out of the hotel room, where he'd probably be watching a baking show and missing his family. The music here was loud enough to keep him from getting too maudlin. The beer he was currently nursing was a lot more potent than the Miller Lites he'd snuck as a kid. Maybe not as much as tub juice, but good enough.   
  
Someone slid on the stool next to him. Unlike Bitty, who'd practically had to jump up on the dang thing, this man's problem was that he was so big and broad he almost crashed into Bitty as he settled himself. "Ho, ho, ho," the man said. "Is cold out there, yes?"  
  
Bitty had seen some interesting outfits already this evening, but most of them exposed too much skin. This was a fully-accessorized Santa suit, white beard, red hat and all. His accent was familiar, though Bitty hadn't heard it much since his figure skating days. _"Good evening,"_ he said, in what must have been hideously accented Russian.  
  
"Oh!" The man slapped him on the back. His hand was _huge._ "Russian, eh?"  
  
"I don't really speak it," Bitty said, feeling his face heat. "Knew it a little when I was figure skatin'."  
  
"You skated?" It was hard to see much of the man's face behind the giant fuzzy beard, but Bitty could see his eyes light up. "My Mom was figure skater, Russian national champion, two world medals."  
  
"I didn't really stop skatin'," he said. "Just--I play hockey now."   
  
"But you so tiny! You must be fast."  
  
"Most of the time," he said, wryly.  
  
"I should buy you drink," he said. "You skate, Santa should buy you present. What do you have, beer?"  
  
He nodded. The stranger's cheer was infectious, Bitty had to admit; Mama would've called him 'a real charmer.' "But you don't have--" He tried to pull up the courage he'd been trying to gather on the ice. "I'm happy to talk with you, you don't have to buy me a drink." Did Bitty look charming? Seductive? Fun, at least?  
  
Santa seemed to like his efforts, anyway. He laughed, and the sound was warm and deep. "I would like to. Your name--?”  
  
"Eric," he said.  
  
"Eric," the man said, thumping him on the back again. "Is nice to meet you, Eric. I am Santa, yes?"  
  
"Sure, Santa," he said, genially. He probably would've been better off using a fake name, too, but at least no one really knew him as _Eric._  
  
"So," Santa said, his dark eyes locked on Eric. "Beer?"  
  
"Sure," he said.  
  
  
The men's room had more glitter than Bitty had seen in one space before in his _life,_ and that counted his cousin Angelica's wedding and his other cousin Tiffany's sweet sixteen. It was still a men's room, and it still smelled a little like piss, but Bitty was well into his fourth beer and Santa was well into his jeans, and they couldn't really kiss around the fake beard but Bitty didn't think he cared any more.  
  
Santa had slipped enough that Bitty had managed to figure out he was a hockey player, which meant he might be on either the Bruins' or the Falconers' line, and probably a defender with his size and hands. Bitty had already told himself he didn't want to know; if he didn't put it all together, there'd be no chance he could slip later, at a party or when Jack Zimmerman was talking about whatever NHL team had prospected him last.  
  
He probably wouldn't remember most of this in the morning anyway, not if the Haus crew was partying as much as they’d promised when he got back to the hotel. He'd just wonder who put the bruises in his hips when he woke up, and hopefully he'd remember how much he enjoyed it.   
  
The stalls had doors that locked, and Bitty managed to slide the lock behind him before Santa spun him around and started on his fly. "So pretty," Santa purred in his ear. "Must be so pretty when you skate."  
  
"My edges are still all right," he said. Santa's hands were _so big._ He reached out and braced himself, one hand against either side of the stall. "How's this?"  
  
Bitty's fly slid down, Santa's fingers carefully avoiding his hard-on. "You have been very good boy, working hard, yes?"  
  
"Yes," Bitty said, biting back a moan of frustration. _Someone's going to hear us,_ he thought, but the music was thumping loudly in his chest, and this was the kind of place where no one was going to ask questions about what was going on in the stalls. He was pretty sure he'd seen someone behind the bar getting a blowjob. At least they'd retired to the head to fool around. That was discreet, right? "I've been so good, Santa."  
  
"I know," Santa said. "And good boys, they get presents. Are you ready for your present?"  
  
_"Please,"_ Bitty panted, and Santa rucked up his shirt so he could touch his skin. His fingers traced across Bitty's chest and teased his nipples. "Oh, I've been--so good. So good. Please."  
  
"Will make it good for you," Santa whispered, hot in Bitty's ear. "Give you everything good boys deserve." His hips bumped against Bitty's ass. "Ah, good ass. Skaters have best asses, yes?"   
  
"Yours is pretty fine," he stammered.  
  
Santa chuckled behind him, and pulled Bitty's jeans down. He slapped the meat of Bitty's ass, making Bitty's cock jostle, and then reached between Bitty's legs and stroked his balls with his big fingers. Bitty had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out. "Would fuck you if we had time," he said. "But we have curfew. Have to just make you feel good."  
  
Bitty nodded. He didn't care at this point; Santa could do whatever he wanted to him now, he was so far gone. He pushed back against Santa's weight, the fake fur of the Santa suit feeling rough against his ass.  
  
"All right if I take my dick out? Not put in, just--just feel you."  
  
_Fuck._ He nodded again, because if he opened his mouth he thought he'd start begging.   
  
"Such a good boy," Santa said. "Want to give you everything on list."  
  
_You can fill my stocking,_ Bitty found himself thinking, and pushed back a giggle. "Yes," he said. "Everything."  
  
Santa's broad hand circled his hip, stroking gently. "Yes. Would take you home if I could. Put you in front of fire. Make you come and come."  
  
"Lord have mercy," Bitty panted. "Just touch me, touch me now--"  
  
"Such a good boy," he said. "Will give you what you need." Santa reached further between Bitty's legs, pulling them apart and urging him backward, encouraging him to bend further down, push his ass closer to Santa's torso. "Stay still for me, yes? Do not want to hurt you."  
  
"You won't," Bitty said, but held still as Santa cupped Bitty's balls in one big, powerful hand, his thumb teasing at Bitty's pubes. Bitty shuddered at the touch. He closed his eyes, pictured the fire, a rug, this man's hands on him, his knees aching--  
  
Santa's cock was rubbing between his cheeks, and Bitty _wanted,_ wanted to get fucked raw by this big, sweet stranger, wanted to see what this giant Russian man was really like underneath the cheap velvet and his fake beard. Lord, the man was _big._  
  
"So good," Santa said. "All right that Santa is big?"  
  
"Don't stop," he said. "Just don't stop--"  
  
"No. Good boys get what they need. Everything they ask for." His finger pressed against Bitty's entrance, and for a second Bitty couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_ any more. It felt so, so good, even though it burned a little as Santa pressed deeper. "Perfect," Santa said, and Bitty almost couldn't hear it over the noise of the club. "So perfect." He rocked against Bitty, and his cock was close, so close, and Bitty stretched his legs further apart, not far apart enough--  
  
"You can," Bitty said. "Want you--want you in me, _in_ me--"  
  
"Can't hurt you--"  
  
Bitty didn't care, was so far past caring. "I've been _so good,_ Santa, please--"  
  
"Just this," Santa said, and pressed further in, and Bitty saw stars behind his eyelids for a second. It _hurt,_ and he _wanted_ it, and Santa's arm wrapped around Bitty's chest and held him fast as he adjusted to the pressure. "Would do more," he said. "Would do so much."  
  
Bitty pressed his cheeks together as much as he could to lend Santa's cock more friction, and Santa moaned. "Tell me when you are ready," he said.   
  
"Okay," Bitty said, when the pain had faded. "Oh, God, please--"  
  
Santa thrust his hips forward and pressed his finger in further, and Bitty rocked back against him, shameless now, no longer thinking about anyone else at the bar, what anyone else might see or hear. It felt so, so good, and his skin felt superheated. His dick was harder than he'd ever remembered it being. "Should I touch now?" Santa asked, over Bitty's shoulder. "Ready?"  
  
_"Yes,"_ Bitty hissed, and Santa's hand dipped down to jerk Bitty off, hard, fast, and Bitty was making noises he didn't even know he could make, and he didn't last, didn't last at _all,_ shot all the way onto the stall wall.  
  
Santa said something in Russian into Bitty's shoulder and thrust against the crack of Bitty's ass a few more times before he shuddered and came against Bitty's skin. They took a second to catch their breath, for the world to stop shaking. Bitty recovered first, and pulled some toilet paper from the roll to clean up some of the mess. Santa helped, his big hands cleaning Bitty's ass, his hands gentle, like Bitty was something precious.  
  
Lord, if Bitty didn't like being treated like something precious.  
  
They dumped the dirty paper in the toilet, and it felt awkward and strange now that they'd finished and the fever had broken. "Thank you," Bitty said, because he'd been raised to be polite, after all.  
  
Santa leaned down and kissed his forehead. "You are very good boy," he said. "You close your eyes, can have special kiss from Santa."  
  
"Oh," Bitty said, and for a second it wasn't like they were in a glitter-covered toilet stall at all. "Yes."  
  
Santa put a hand over Bitty's eyes for insurance, but he pulled his beard down so Bitty could get his mouth unobstructed, the scratchy beard still brushing against his chin but not enough to distract him from the way Santa kissed, hungry and wet. Bitty was half-hard again and getting harder.   
  
The worst thing was, this was the kind of guy he could see himself getting along with, even without the music and the beer and Shitty's demand that he 'get in the game, man.' But if Bitty was right and he really was a pro, or even close to the pros--  
  
Bitty wasn't even sure he could manage lying for the rest of college. He kissed Santa all the harder for how lonely he must be.  
  
"I am glad to meet you, Eric," Santa said, when he finally pulled his face away.   
  
"I am too, Santa," Bitty said. "You--you have a good Christmas, all right?"  
  
"You too," Santa said, and thumped him on the back. "You make wish to see me again, maybe?"  
  
"I think I'll do that."  
  
He let Santa leave the bathroom first--like there was any question about what they'd been doing, but still--and by the time he got out there, the bartender told him "Santa" had paid off his tab.   
  
"Wasn't that sweet of him," Bitty said, and called a Lyft.  
  
On the way back to the hotel, he looked out the windows at the twinkling lights and wondered if Santa would be alone for Christmas.


End file.
